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ow. ow ow ow.
Sunday, 5 June 2005 05:32 pmTyping this is contingent upon two interesting possibilities:
1. Whether or not the screen will give one final shimmy and die forever before I finish typing. (It's so on its way out - wibbles, shimmies and alternations between moments of fade-to-black and moments of fade-to-bright-migraine-white. I really want one of those sexy flatscreen ones, since I have a Very Small Desk on which to utterly fail to fit a computer and Great Piles of Marking. But I doubt I can afford it. Sigh.)
2. Whether or not my head will explode before I finish typing. Epic Three-Day Headaches Are Us. One of those happy little beasties with an ability to cut through painkillers like a Jedi light-sabre through meringue. I slept until 11am this morning, as a result of said painkillers, but the headache muttered "Excelsior!" and grimly followed, to be there above my left eye when I awoke. Dear little devoted thing.
The house has been very full of people all weekend. Evil Landlord's fault, mostly, which is unusual. (I seem to be in retreat again). Anyway, fun fondue last night, said fun made the more because it was instigated by Evil Landlord, not me, and it therefore fell to him to clean up the interesting charred fragments of Burnt Crunchy Bits from the remaining oil-like sludge at the bottom of the fondue pot. My role in the evening was confined to concocting ten different dipping sauces, and dessert. A few hours ago I managed to spread a sample of left-over dessert across a (and I mean this perfectly literally) 4-metre swathe of the living room, by randomly dropping it in a graceful arc while under the influence of painkillers and headache-fog. Apple-berry crumble and cream across two carpets, one television, one chair and the sofa. Messy and depressing. I hate being a klutz.
The Evil Landlord has subsequently filled the house with random Germans of the NGO persuasion, friends of friends who are staying for a couple of days. Sweet people, if much given to continual futzing with laptop displays and three separate telephones (their two cells and our landline). Since it's all in German, it's possible that they've actually been co-ordinating the air strike on the house, which would probably be due to hit any minute, given that they've just left. *adds this to possible things precluding the completion of this post*
The Dusk Till Dawn diss-fest on Friday has left me with my critical wossnames feeling pleasantly honed, which is appropriate, as I'm going to wander off and see the new Star Wars this week (once I've broken the death-grip of this headache). Watch this space.
1. Whether or not the screen will give one final shimmy and die forever before I finish typing. (It's so on its way out - wibbles, shimmies and alternations between moments of fade-to-black and moments of fade-to-bright-migraine-white. I really want one of those sexy flatscreen ones, since I have a Very Small Desk on which to utterly fail to fit a computer and Great Piles of Marking. But I doubt I can afford it. Sigh.)
2. Whether or not my head will explode before I finish typing. Epic Three-Day Headaches Are Us. One of those happy little beasties with an ability to cut through painkillers like a Jedi light-sabre through meringue. I slept until 11am this morning, as a result of said painkillers, but the headache muttered "Excelsior!" and grimly followed, to be there above my left eye when I awoke. Dear little devoted thing.
The house has been very full of people all weekend. Evil Landlord's fault, mostly, which is unusual. (I seem to be in retreat again). Anyway, fun fondue last night, said fun made the more because it was instigated by Evil Landlord, not me, and it therefore fell to him to clean up the interesting charred fragments of Burnt Crunchy Bits from the remaining oil-like sludge at the bottom of the fondue pot. My role in the evening was confined to concocting ten different dipping sauces, and dessert. A few hours ago I managed to spread a sample of left-over dessert across a (and I mean this perfectly literally) 4-metre swathe of the living room, by randomly dropping it in a graceful arc while under the influence of painkillers and headache-fog. Apple-berry crumble and cream across two carpets, one television, one chair and the sofa. Messy and depressing. I hate being a klutz.
The Evil Landlord has subsequently filled the house with random Germans of the NGO persuasion, friends of friends who are staying for a couple of days. Sweet people, if much given to continual futzing with laptop displays and three separate telephones (their two cells and our landline). Since it's all in German, it's possible that they've actually been co-ordinating the air strike on the house, which would probably be due to hit any minute, given that they've just left. *adds this to possible things precluding the completion of this post*
The Dusk Till Dawn diss-fest on Friday has left me with my critical wossnames feeling pleasantly honed, which is appropriate, as I'm going to wander off and see the new Star Wars this week (once I've broken the death-grip of this headache). Watch this space.
